


Pattern

by Anonymous



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Violence, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26732665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ben becomes a different person when he's drunk, a person that scares Callum.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Anonymous





	Pattern

**Author's Note:**

> This is just pure dark fic, where Ben hits Callum whilst drunk. Please don't read if that kind of content may be upsetting/triggering.

“CALLUM! GET YOUR FUCKING ARSE HERE NOW!” 

Dread filled Callum as the yell of his boyfriend reached his ears. Maybe if he laid down and pretended to be asleep he’d be left alone. 

“CALLUM! DON’T FUCKING IGNORE ME!” 

The slam of the kitchen cupboards and clattering of various pans and plates echoed throughout their flat. Callum buried himself under the blankets and slowed his breathing. If he thought he was asleep he wouldn’t be mad. 

“CALLUM! IF YOU’RE NOT OUT HERE IN FIVE SECONDS I’M GONNA COME GET YA!” 

Terror washed through Callum’s stomach, knotting and rising up his chest to rest at his throat. Bed covers tossed aside he hurried out of the bedroom, standing in front of his boyfriend. 

“Sorry Ben, was asleep,” He explained through a watery smile, voice shaking. Please let him be too drunk to notice, please. 

“Well next time don’t be. Where’s ma kiss?” Ben grumbled, abandoning the messy sideboard to grip Callum’s waist, pulling him down to sloppily press their mouths together. 

Callum winced at the taste of alcohol in Ben’s mouth, trying to be still as his tongue probed into his mouth. When he was satisfied, Ben pulled away, watching Callum blearily for a second. 

“Wanna bacon sarnie.” He muttered, gesturing to the pan with a whole pack of bacon next to it. 

“Okay,” Callum said quietly, tracking Ben’s movements. “You, do you want me to do it?” 

Ben pursed his lips, facing Callum again. Whatever he saw pleased him, and he pulled Callum close again, resting his head on his chest. The trepidation in Callum’s throat began to ease. Tonight, wasn’t like the other, Ben was still Ben. He let himself breathe, squeezing Ben to him. 

“Yeah, do that babe. A slut in bed, cook in the kitchen, and fucking sexy all the time. Ain’t I lucky?” 

Red coloured Callum’s ears and he turned to start cooking the bacon. Ben disappeared out of the kitchen, and Callum heard his stumbling footsteps in the bathroom, shortly followed by the shower turning on. 

When he heard Ben’s drunken – but still good – singing he sighed in relief, slumping down against the sideboard. The bruises on his stomach from the last time Ben had gotten drunk still throbbed slightly at the contact, making him lean up on his arms slightly. 

It was a one off, it must have been a one off. Ben didn’t remember it the next morning, and had been so concerned when he saw Callum’s bruises that Callum had lied, told him he’d fallen over and hurt himself. Gentle hands had tilted his head for a kiss, and then soft lips had kissed his bruises, chastising him fondly for his clumsiness. Ben would never hurt him, never. It was a one off. 

He carried on cooking the bacon, flipping it so it crisped nice and even, just the way that Ben liked it. Like the dutiful house wife he was, he liberally buttered some bread, and then his heart dropped. 

There was no tomato sauce. 

Ben _always_ had tomato sauce in a bacon sandwich. He wouldn’t have one without it. Frantically Callum searched all of the cupboards, then the fridge and even the freezer in the hopes that some would materialise. None did, and Callum clutched the sideboard in panic. 

Thudding footsteps, accompanied by the sweet smell of Ben’s shower gel made him straighten up, and he turned to find Ben smiling drunkenly at him. 

“Wassup with you babe?” He slurred, wrapping his arms around Callum’s waist and kissing at his neck. 

“Uh nothing, just – “Callum bit his lip and forced himself to calm down. This was Ben, his Ben. Last time had been a one off, Ben would never hurt him. “We haven’t got any tomato sauce.” 

Ben paused, leaning back to look up at Callum, brows furrowed. “Ya what?” 

“We, we don’t have any tomato sauce for your sandwich, Ben. I – I could do some tomatoes in it instead? Or, or-" 

Ben leaned up, pressed a finger to Callum’s lips, silencing him as though he’d been gagged. He stared at the bacon on the bread, then back up at Callum. 

“Why is there no sauce?”

Callum flinched at the question and shrugged. He did know, he went shopping on Wednesdays, and today was Tuesday. They must have used it all. He opened his mouth to explain this, and was silenced by Ben grabbing his face. 

“Callum. You’re meant to do the shopping, and you didn’t even get any sauce. What the fuck did you buy?” Ben’s voice rose, fingers digging into the soft skin of Callum’s cheeks harshly. 

“I – I did buy it,” Callum forced out around a grimace. “I did, we must have used it all up.” 

Ben swayed on his feet, eyes flashing as he took in Callum’s words. Callum stayed frozen, not daring to breathe. If he was still and quiet maybe Ben would forget he was there, wouldn’t be angry. 

Wouldn’t hurt him. 

Eternity stretched in the tense silence, before Ben finally moved, pulling Callum down to his height. “Fuckin... tomorrow you go shop an get us some sauce. Prove you ain’t fuckin useless.” 

Tears pricked Callum’s eyes at the cold words but he nodded quickly, mumbling out a quiet okay. 

The grumbling of Ben’s stomach brought his attention back to his hunger and he released Callum to scoop up his sandwich, carrying it over to the sofa and flopping down. Callum turned and started washing the dishes, trying to stop his hands from trembling and the tears from falling. He was okay, it was okay. 

Ben’s voice carried through to the kitchen as he gave a commentary on how ridiculously shit bacon sandwiches are without tomato sauce, and Callum concentrated on washing up, letting his voice fade into the background. 

Pan and knife washed, kitchen sideboard tided, Callum headed to the living room to grab Ben’s plate to wash it. He grabbed the porcelain, not aware of the blue eyes staring daggers at him until his arm was grabbed. Before he could turn his head to see what was happening, he found himself on his back, the wind knocked out of him. 

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING IGNORE ME!” Ben was over him, eyes red and glazed over with rage. He couldn’t reply, a slap across his face stunning him. 

Instinctively he raised his arms to defend himself, crying out when Ben pulled his hands up and knelt down on his forearm, just above the elbow, pinning him down. 

“Ben! Stop, you’re hurting me!” 

“Hurtin ya? I’m hurtin ya?” Ben repeated, leaning down until his nose touched Callum’s. “Good. What you deserve, you fuckin liar, copper, traitor.” He bunched a hand in Callum’s hair, tugging it with every word. “My dad’s in prison cos of you and all you can say is I’m hurtin you? You’re lucky I didn’t kill you like he told me to.”

Tears spilled down Callum’s cheeks as Ben’s tirade continued, trying desperately to get the other man off. When he’d fulfilled his deal with Thompson and gotten enough dirt to put Phil inside, he’d been caught by Ben and forced to come clean, too late. Ben had stood by him when he explained why he’d done it, that he loved Ben too much to let him be put away, but he’d felt the rift between them grow. Last time Ben hadn’t said anything when he came back drunk, had just stared down at Callum and laid into him as though in a trance. Callum had been too scared and shaken to ask what it had been about. Now he knew. 

When Ben tired of slapping him, pulling his hair and spewing nasty, venomous words at him, he simply got up, that trance like look glazed over his eyes, and wordlessly headed to bed. Callum remained on the floor for several minutes, trying to control his breathing and the panic and pain washing through him. Shakily he rose, taking the plate that had thankfully not shattered on the carpet, and washed it in the kitchen sink.

Hesitantly he stood outside the bedroom, peering in and flooding with relief as Ben’s snores reached his ears. He slept deeply, so Callum was able to close the door and climb into bed. The only movement was Ben’s arm lopping over his waist, pulling them flush against each other. 

In the dark of the night and placidity of sleep Ben didn’t look angry or violent, or even drunk. He just looked peaceful. 

Callum knew he needed to do something, he couldn’t let this carry on. Ben never seemed to know what he was doing, he’d enter these aggressive, violent moods with a flip of a switch and exit them just as quickly without any awareness of his changed state. Really, he should leave, Callum knew that. You never let anyone hit you, and you certainly don’t stay for more. But...

He loved him. He loved Ben so much, he made his heart sing and blood warm, made him laugh and smile. The sun on a cloudy day, a drink in the desert, flowers blooming in the park. He was everything that made Callum feel good. 

“Callum? Oh my god, Callum, wake up, what the hell happened to your face?” 

“Ummm... wha?” 

Ben was propped on his elbow, glasses perched on his nose and face scrunched up in concern. His hand ran along Callum’s cheek. 

“You’ve got a massive bruise babe. What happened, did you hurt yourself?” 

Ah. So he didn’t remember. He looked up into those gorgeous eyes, bleary from sleep but coherent and full of affection and love, and he couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. So he swallowed thickly, cleared his throat, and spoke. 

“Oh, I must’ve banged my face against something last night. Don’t worry about it.” 

Ben’s face remained concerned, but he leant down to kiss Callum softly, running light caresses over Callum’s bruise. 

“You really do need to be more careful babe. Hate seeing my beautiful man all bruised up.” 

Callum offered him a watery smile and reinstated the kiss, melting into it and putting last night out of his mind. 

I mean, Ben hadn’t really hurt him, he was fine. And who doesn’t lose their temper when they’re drunk, get a bit aggressive. 

It was fine. They were fine. Everything is totally, completely and utterly fine.


End file.
